


Don't Judge a Book by its Cover

by archea2



Series: Old Tales Twice Told [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 05:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archea2/pseuds/archea2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crossover with <i>Fahrenheit 451</i>. John and Sherlock have become fugitives and joined the Book People. First written to fill Morganstuart's prompt on the Sherlock kinkmeme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Judge a Book by its Cover

**Author's Note:**

> Written to launch a series of crossovers. See the endnote for a link to Reapersun's and Taikova's lovely illustrations.
> 
> John and Sherlock can be seen as bromantic friends or lovers - your call!

He could hear Sherlock's voice over the soft lilt of the river, connecting the words together much as he had once connected facts and data on State orders. The recitant raised his head in time to see John wince and hug his leg as he lowered himself down on the bank.  
  
"It still hurts, then."  
  
John gave a nod. "Yeah, bloody Hound. But it's on the mend. Lucky me, escaping with a genius who used to hide  _The Universalis Encyclopedia of Poisons_  in his landlady's collection of hatboxes."  
  
"A mechanical bee-dog," Sherlock mused, still cradling the thick, no-nonsense looking book in his hands. "You know, that's really an intriguing concept. I asked Lestrade if he could provide me with a prototype when he last liaised, but he wasn't exactly compliant."  
  
"Oh? What did he say?"  
  
Sherlock's mouth stretched into a lazy smirk before it released a gravelly staccato. "Listen, kiddo, I've got three fake busts to stage and the Captain breathing down my neck, and not to check my lower orders either. Just piss off and stay put, willya?"  
  
"He was concerned for your safety."  
  
"No, he was annoyed that he'd only managed to cover five more pages of Julia Childs." Sherlock didn't try to hide his complacency; his inner hard-disk capacity had soon made him Book of the Year among the fugitives. The essay on his lap was the fourth he'd memorized ("engraved, really") since their arrival two months earlier.   
  
" 'Fucking paperwork,' said he, and went off to blaze another fake stash. Mrs Hudson's offered to drill him through the ear-piece but it's far too risky, all the more as she's been learning  _Exquisite Corpses_  and I'd hate to think of the consequences if Lestrade ended up mixing the two."  
  
John laughed, crossing his arms under his neck. The river slough was lulling him half into easeful sleep, but he didn't want the talk to end, not yet. He looked up at Sherlock, squinting his eyes against a sun that no longer spoke of combustion and furnaces as it trickled down over them through the beech leaves. "Give us some," he asked quietly.  
  
He could feel Sherlock's hand on his knee, grounding him to their talk, their nook of rest. " _Men are apt to mistake the strength of their feeling for the strength of their argument,_ " the beautiful deep voice recited slowly. " _The heated mind resents the chill touch and relentless scrutiny of logic._ "  
  
"Don't tell me you're recording your own opus, you git."  
  
"No, no. William Gladstone."  
  
"Gladstone? Wait a sec, didn't Mycroft call dibs on him?"  
  
"Your lack of faith truly saddens me, John."  
  
"Christ. Don't tell me you've been gobbling up the political three-deckers only to get one over on your bro." John chuckled. "Be a good chap, now, leave him Machiavelli for pudding."  
  
Sherlock gave him a pointed look down his nose, before he burrowed it again into his book.  
  
"What's that? Strength of feeling has left you without an argument?"  
  
"Quoting a quote is a waste of voice, John. Why don't you  _give me some_ , as you so charmingly say?"  
  
"Wouldn't want to inflict my book's opinions on you, my friend."  
  
Sherlock heaved an exaggerated sigh, putting Mr Gladstone aside once more. "And fishing for a nice review is beneath you, John. Out with it, whatever it is you're hiding in your back pocket."  
  
"You might be surprised," John smiled. He raised himself on his left elbow, allowing the sun to bathe his face so that he wouldn't have to watch Sherlock's reaction too closely.   
  
" _Macavity's a ginger cat, he's very tall and thin;_  
_You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in._  
 _His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly doomed;_  
 _His coat is dusty from neglec_ t..."  
  
"T. S. Eliot." Sherlock's voice was edged with disbelief. "What on earth made you chose  _The Old Possum Book of Cats_? That's Molly's department, obviously. And we've got that stack of war novels Mycroft sent over from the Churchill Fund, I thought —"  
  
"Well, you got it wrong." John forced his eyes open, facing Sherlock under the brilliant afternoon sky. "Why is Lestrade memorizing a cookery book? Why did Mycroft lay claim to  _The Complete History of Football in Ten Volumes_? Why am I learning a glut of poems about tall, thin, clever cats with high-doomed brows and martyrized greatcoats? I'll give you a clue, Sherlock Holmes. The whole damn point of rebellion is that you do it for others and because of others. _Others_. That's a starting point for you."  
  
The river stream was the only audible speaker for the next five minutes, until John, who had dropped back into the shade, murmured "Problem?"  
  
"No." Sherlock coughed. "John, would you mind if I, erm. Gave us some more?"  
  
"Pleasure." But John kept his eyes closed.  
  
He heard the rustling of bruised grass as his friend turned over on his side. " _No man ever became great or good except through many and great mistakes._ I'll — try to keep this in memory."  
  
Sherlock's face, hovering under the sun, was a curious mix-up of certainty and hesitation. John raised a hand to cup the speaker's neck. "I can't argue with you," he said simply, and waited for the quote to register. When it did, and he could pull Sherlock down to him, he stared up at the sky past his friend's shoulder, and the invisible towns on the other side of the sky. 

 _Try it_ , he thought.  _Work your worst. Burn us if you dare - but you won't burn this out of us._

[A/N: Two lovely illustrations for this ficlet!

Reapersun's fanart can be found [here](http://reapersun.tumblr.com/post/14058056088/inspired-by-the-fill-for-this-prompt-on-the-kink).

And you will find Taikova's fanart [there](http://castiel-sherlock-watson.tumblr.com/post/25446851137).]

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Don't Judge a Book by its Cover](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9467408) by [KeeperofSeeds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeeperofSeeds/pseuds/KeeperofSeeds)




End file.
